Soft they slumber,
Dreaming, stirring not at all.

Freedom's host of silent sleepers,
Where they lie is holy ground,
Heeding not our restless clamor,
Musket's rattle, trumpet's sound.
Soft they slumber,
Ever wrapped in peace profound.

Presence of Mind.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

Such a forlorn little sunbonnet bobbing here and there among the bean
poles in the garden back of Mr. Mason's house! It seemed as if the blue
gingham ruffles and the deep cape must know something about the troubled
little face they hid away, for they hung in a limp fashion that was
enough to tell anybody who saw them just how badly the wearer of the
sunbonnet was feeling. She had, as she thought, more than her share of
toil and trouble in this busy world, and to-day she had a specially good
reason to carry a heavy heart in her little breast.

All Morningside was in a perfect flutter of anticipation and excitement.
There had never been a lawn party in the little village before, and
Effie Dean, twelve years old to-day, was to have a lawn party, to which
every child for miles, to say nothing of a gay troop of cousins and
friends from the city, had been invited. Everybody was going, of course.

The Deans had taken for the season a beautiful old homestead, the owners
of which were in Europe. They were having gala times there, and they
managed to draw all the young folks of the village in to share them.
All, indeed, except one little girl. Cynthia Mason did not expect to go
to many festivities, but with her whole heart she longed to see what a
lawn party might be. The very name sounded beautiful to her, and she
said it over and over wistfully as she went slowly down the door-yard
between the tigerlilies and the hollyhocks, through the rough gate which
hung so clumsily on its leathern hinges, and, with her basket by her
side, began her daily task of picking beans.

Cynthia Mason had no mother. Her father loved his little daughter and
was kind to her, but he was a silent man, who was not very successful,
and who had lost hope when his wife had died. People said he had never
been the same man since then. His sister, Cynthia's Aunt Kate, was an
active, stirring woman, who liked to be busy herself and to hurry other
people. She kept the house as clean as a new pin, had the meals ready to
the moment, and saw that everybody's clothing was washed and mended; but
she never felt as if she had